"Mine's gonna win. Watch," said Eirik, crouched by the stream with his bark boat poised like it was a warship.
"You said that last time," Liv replied, tying a tiny strand of grass around hers like a sail. "Yours flipped and drowned like a rock."
"Boats don't drown," Eirik muttered. "And that wasn't fair. Sune pushed mine."
Sune laughed from the other side of the bank. "It touched my foot. I panicked."
"I bet Astrid's wins," said Liv, nodding toward the quietest of the group.
Astrid was kneeling on the bank with her bark boat floating motionless in a puddle she'd dug herself.
"It's not a race boat," Astrid said softly. "It's a soul vessel."
The other three blinked.
"A what?" asked Sune.
"A soul vessel," she repeated, as if that explained everything.
"She's been listening to old Marta's stories again," Eirik whispered behind his hand.
Astrid looked up. "They're not just stories. She says bark carries memory. From the roots. If you shape it right, it remembers who it was."
"You mean the tree?" asked Liv, scrunching her nose.
Astrid nodded. "And before that, maybe."
There was a beat of silence. A bird cawed in the distance—sharp, high, and almost human.
"…Right. Let's race," Eirik said quickly, placing his boat in the stream and giving it a mighty push. "Go, Thunderblade!"
"That's not a name," Liv groaned, setting hers in after it. "Mine's called Skyfang. At least it makes sense."
Sune tossed his bark in last, yelling "Doomrafter!" and nearly slipping in.
The little bark vessels floated, bumped, and spun through the shallow current. Thunderblade tipped sideways and caught a pebble.
"Ha!" Liv shouted. "Told you—Skyfang's ahead!"
"Unfair terrain!" Eirik barked. "That's a cheating rock."
They laughed and whooped, the sound of their voices carrying across the hollow. Around them, the forest stood still. Not dead. Just… waiting.
It had always been like that in this village—peaceful, but slightly off. The kind of quiet that made dogs pause and crows stare too long.
After the race (Skyfang won by a leaf's length), the kids sprawled on the mossy bank, sun filtering through branches overhead.
"Did Marta ever tell you the one about the man who slept in stone?" Astrid asked, tracing lines in the dirt.
"Nope," said Liv. "Let me guess—he wakes up and eats people."
"No," Astrid said, frowning. "He remembers the world."
"That's worse," said Sune. "Grown-ups remembering stuff is bad enough. A world-rememberer sounds awful."
Eirik sat up. "Why does he sleep in stone?"
"Because it's the only thing that remembers longer than bark," Astrid whispered.
There was another silence. Wind brushed the trees. For a moment, a shadow passed overhead—like a bird, but without wings.
"You kids down there again?" called a voice.
Old Marta stood on the edge of the hill, wrapped in faded green, her cane stabbing the earth like it had done this walk a thousand times.
"We're not doing anything," Sune called back instinctively.
"Lies," Marta muttered as she hobbled down. "You're always doing something, even when you think you're not. Especially then."
She squinted at Astrid. "You've been talking about bark again."
"She started it," said Liv.
"She listens," Marta corrected. "More than you think. Bark's not just bark."
"Because it remembers?" Eirik asked, eyes narrowing. "Astrid said that."
"And she's right," Marta said, settling onto a low rock with a grunt. "But even bark forgets in time. Stone remembers more."
Sune scratched his head. "What do stones remember?"
Marta looked at him. Then at the stream. Then past it, to the place the kids never went—the broken temple, half-eaten by the woods.
"They remember gods," she said.
No one spoke. Even the stream went quiet.
"…Are you telling stories again?" Liv asked, softly.
"I don't tell stories," Marta said. "I tell warnings. The difference is stories end."
She tapped her cane once, and the air shifted. Not cooler. Not darker. Just older.
Astrid stood slowly. Her bark soul-vessel was still in her hands.
"…What kind of god sleeps in stone?" she asked.
Marta smiled. It was not a kind smile.
"The kind that wakes wrong."
And far beneath them, deep in the bones of the land, a pulse echoed once.